The Orphan of Awkward Falls (11 page)

The librarian had been right about the approaching storm. The sky was black and blue when Josephine Cravitz and her mother walked out of the O. R. MacManus Library and Bait Shop with their books. A cold, biting wind whipped out of the north and pellets of sleet began pelting their faces as they hurried to the car. Barbara suggested they skip the other errands they had planned to do and go straight home instead. With the weather turning ugly and the escaped killer on the loose, she wanted to get back to the house, lock all the doors, and hunker down by the fire until things were back to normal.

This was fine with Josephine. The librarian had let her borrow a stack of books. She couldn’t wait to get them home and go carefully through them one by one.

Thirty minutes later, Josephine was sitting in front of the fireplace back at Twittington House, wrapped in a blanket, sipping green tea with the books spread on the floor around her. She loved stormy
days, the stormier the better, but she had never seen anything like this. Outside, a hissing waterfall of ice had come pouring from the sky, pounding against the roof and windows. The wind rattled the panes and whistled around the eaves of the roof, snaking its way in through every tiny crack and crevice of the old house. Still, with its antique furnace rumbling in the basement and the fireplace crackling away, the house managed to stay just warm enough.

Josephine opened
Geniuses of North
America and found two references to “Hibble, Celsius T.” in the book’s index. The first was devoted solely to the professor, but consisted only of a couple of paragraphs listing his accomplishments. The second turned out to be part of a longer piece about Thomas Edison. Josephine read that Hibble had been one of the “Edison Pioneers,” a group of twenty-nine researchers who had been singled out for their work in electronics. The white-haired professor was easy to find in the photo of the Pioneers from the group’s first meeting, which took place in 1918.

After finishing the article, Josephine came back to the photo. Something about it was not right. She pulled the photo of Celsius and Sally she’d found in her bedroom from her pocket and laid it next to the one in the book. The date in the corner of the photo from her room was 1936. She guessed the professor’s age at the time couldn’t have been more than thirty. But if that was true, he would have been a child in 1918. She found a magnifying glass
in her mom’s knitting basket and took a closer look at the picture in the book.

But he was no child. In fact, the professor looked identical in both pictures.

Josephine spent the rest of the afternoon poring over the library books, looking for anything that might clear up the confusion about the professor’s age, but she found nothing. It wasn’t long before the steady din of the storm, her cozy nest of blankets, and her lack of sleep the night before combined to send Josephine into a delicious nap. She didn’t wake up until late afternoon, when her father kissed her cheek. The university had sent everyone home early, he said, before the roads became too icy to drive on. Barbara brought in a tray of carrot cookies and chai. They told Howard all about Sally and Professor Hibble’s doomed engagement and Stenchley’s awful murder of the professor at the house right next door.

Howard was stunned. “Wow! I had no idea Hibble was from Awkward Falls. And what are the odds that the escaped convict would be the very guy who killed him?”

Howard went into the kitchen for more cookies and turned on the radio. He twisted the dial to the local station and carried the plate in to Barbara and Josephine. It was only a few moments before Phil, the announcer, abruptly broke into the musical program to give
an update on the latest developments in the manhunt. Again, he had Sergeant Cole on the phone, the officer’s slow, casual voice patiently answering the announcer’s excited questions.

“So, Sergeant, do ya know where the heck the escapee is at this time?”

“Well, he’s headed north, Phil, just as I expected,” said the officer. “The latest report from the Royal Canadian Mounted Police says that the escapee is now in the vicinity of the lake country wilderness, which is, as you know, some pretty gnarly territory. Those boys are combing the woods like you wouldn’t believe. Now they’ve got dogs trackin’ him as well.”

“Dogs, eh? That’s pretty good.”

“They’re the best, the Mounties are, Phil. They’ll catch him.”

“And our threat level? Any change in that, Fin?”

“Aye, we’re back down to turquoise now, which means that the prisoner no longer poses much of a threat to us hereabouts.”

“Did you hear that, folks?” the announcer said. “We’re back down to turquoise again!” With obvious relief, the announcer reminded listeners to stay tuned for further developments, then signed off. The soothing strains of classical music once again floated out of the speaker.

“Well, thank heavens for that.” Barbara relaxed and leaned her head on Howard’s shoulder. “I don’t think I could have slept tonight knowing a killer was out there.”

Josephine wanted to feel relieved, too, but she didn’t. Now that night was getting near, she began to worry that maybe the librarian had been right, and Stenchley was still a threat. She had to warn Thaddeus as soon as possible. A surge of fear, mixed with excitement, shot through her body as she made the decision to sneak next door again tonight.

“Yes, it looks like the danger is past.” Howard peered out the locked living room window at the empty frozen street outside. “I still can’t believe Hibble’s assistant murdered him in the house right next door. I didn’t even know there was a house there.”

“You can’t see it from ground level because it’s surrounded by a stone wall and lots of big trees,” said Josephine.

Barbara added a splash of milk to each of their cups. “And now the place is abandoned, except for a robotic caretaker built by the professor himself, believe it or not.”

Howard sipped his chai thoughtfully. “Interesting. I’d love to see it. I wonder if…no, I doubt it.”

“You wonder what?” Barbara punched his arm.

“Ow. Well, it’s just that there was an old rumor among some of the scientific community that Hibble was dabbling in the use of microtechnology for interfacing with live neurocircuits. But that’s far-fetched.”

Josephine was lost. “What does all that mean, Dad?”

“I think he’s talking about cybernetics, dear,” Barbara said. “Combining humans and machines.”

“That sounds like science fiction.”

“Biocybernetics are on the cutting edge of real science even now, Jo.”

Josephine knew her father loved talking about anything that was “cutting edge.” He was a true geek that way. “Modern medicine is starting to use microscopic machines to replace or regrow living tissue. Several of the big biotech companies are already doing amazing things with nanomachines no bigger than a cell.”

Josephine thought of Norman. “Has there ever been a person who had so many parts replaced that they were more machine than human?”

Howard shook his head. “Not even close. The ratio of human parts to electronic parts is still very large.”

Barbara shuddered. “Good. I don’t think I’d want to see that, thank you very much.”

“Better not look, then. It’s only a matter of time before it happens,” Howard said. “On the other hand, there are lots and lots of robots in use today, though none that make use of any living tissue. Automatons have been in existence since as long ago as the eighth century. Even then they were quite elaborate. The possibility that there’s a functioning robotic device built by Celsius Hibble himself right next door is very intriguing.”

Barbara sighed. “I wish we could get a peek, but the librarian told us the estate has been off-limits to the public since the murder.”

“Too bad,” Howard said. “I bet that place has some amazing stories to tell.”

If you only knew,
Josephine thought.

After a long, cozy afternoon, the three Cravitzes enjoyed a cauli-flower casserole dinner followed by a spirited game of Parcheesi. Barbara won, as usual, which meant that Howard and Josephine had to do the dishes. They didn’t mind, however. They washed and dried quietly, watching the storm through the icy kitchen window.

Night fell, though you could hardly tell, since the storm had kept the sky nearly dark all day. The wind continued to howl, and the sleet turned to snow, which fell in fat clumps. Outside, Josephine heard the occasional rifle-shot crack of tree branches snapping under the heavy blanket of ice that lay over everything. Howard stoked the fire regularly, keeping their little nest in the living room warm.

The dishes were soon done, and though it was still early, Howard and Barbara were already yawning. The wintry weather made a warm bed and an early bedtime all the more attractive to the adults. Josephine was anything but sleepy, and would normally have objected to ending the evening at this hour, but on this night she said nothing. The sooner her parents were asleep, the better. She kissed them good night and hurried upstairs.

The thought of traipsing through the woods, climbing over the wall, passing through the cemetery, and creeping down the dark alleys of the maze in the middle of an ice storm would not have been an appealing thought for a normal person. For Josephine, it only made things more interesting. Nothing was going to keep her away from Hibble Manor tonight.

Once her parents had turned off their light, Josephine hopped out of bed, piled on multiple layers of clothing topped with a raincoat, and pulled Eggplant snugly down over her ears.
Okay,
she thought,
parents asleep, ice storm raging, lunatic on the loose—perfect time to go out for the evening! I really should have my head examined.

She paused to put
Geniuses of North America
into a grocery bag, and slung it over her shoulder. Maybe Thaddeus would know something about the Edison Pioneers entry. She slipped out the back door and into the freezing darkness. When she came to the wall, she saw that it had become coated with a sheet of ice. She climbed up the adjacent fir tree and held a branch while she plopped her bottom on top of the wall. She slid down the other side and landed with a crunch in the ice-coated weeds. Josephine carefully trudged through the little cemetery as the wind and snow battered and pushed at her, holding on to the crooked headstones for balance.

Suddenly her foot slipped on the slick ground and she went down hard on her back. When she sat up, she saw that she had very nearly fallen into a deep hole in front of one of the tombstones. She
gripped the top of the stone and pulled herself up. A little mountain of ice-crusted dirt was piled next to the hole.

An open grave? That definitely wasn’t here last night.

At the bottom of the hole she could see a muddy coffin, its lid open and its inhabitant missing. Through the glaze of ice that covered the granite headstone, she read the name Celsius
T. Hibble.

The extreme cold did not allow Josephine to linger at the grave for long. The wind was so cold, it made her skin burn wherever it was exposed. She ducked her head into her coat and hurried toward the mansion’s front door. Moments later, she was inside the candlelit parlor of Hibble Manor, much to the annoyance of Thaddeus.

“Should I expect that you will now come barging into my house on a regular basis, Ms. Cravitz?” he grumbled. “And you, Norman,” he went on, directing his ire at the robot, “opening the door to any vagabond who rings the bell. The security implications of this situation are most upsetting!”

But when Josephine mentioned the open grave and empty coffin she had passed on the way over, Thaddeus immediately stopped his complaining. This troubling development sent his hand into his pocket, from which he pulled an unfinished candy bar. Thaddeus
paced back and forth on the worn carpet worriedly as he munched the nub of a Nuttycream Crunchlog.

“Who on earth would dig up Grandfather’s grave?” he pondered, chewing. “And what have they done with the body?”

Josephine sat shivering in a tattered easy chair as Norman poured her a mug of steaming cocoa. “I c-can’t imagine,” she said.

“It would appear,” Thaddeus said, “that we have had another intruder. A body snatcher, this time! I wonder if it could be the man in the black suit again? He’s bound to be up to something.”

Felix, who lay curled on the rug in a tight ball, opened one eye and offered his opinion. “You’re off base, kid. Why would a spook from the orphanage wanta dig up Gramps Hibble? It’s too weird, even for those goons.”

“The empty coffin isn’t the only thing,” said Josephine. “What I really came over here to tell you is that Fetid Stenchley escaped from the asylum yesterday, and he’s still on the loose. I figured you probably hadn’t heard.”

“Stenchley?” Thaddeus chuckled. “That’s impossible! No one has ever escaped from the Asylum for the Dangerously Insane! The place is a fortress!”

“Well, they have now. We heard it on the radio this morning.”

“That could be a problem, boss,” said Felix, scratching a flea on his ear. “If this Stenchley guy whacked your paw-paw, who’s to say he might not wanta whack you too?”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” said Josephine. “You could be in real danger.”

Thaddeus pretended not to hear her. “ There’s nothing to worry about! Norman can secure the house in minutes, easily.” Thaddeus walked to the window and peeked through the drapes. “Besides, if Stenchley is out of doors on a night like this, he’s done for.”

“The police did say they think he’s heading north into the wilderness,” Josephine admitted, “but the librarian in town seemed to think they might be wrong. She said she would be sleeping with her shotgun tonight, just in case.”

“Then we shall take all necessary precautions.” Thaddeus snapped his fingers. “Norman, implement Security Status One! Check every possible entrance thoroughly, and leave nothing to chance.”

The robot hesitated. “Is that the one where I seal all the windows with glue? Or is it the one where I stack the furniture against the doors?”

“Both! And gather all our deadliest weaponry.”

“I’m afraid we are running a bit low on deadly weaponry, sir. We sold the last of the antique sabers and crossbows some time ago. However, there may still be a javelin in the drawing room.”

“A fierce weapon,” Thaddeus said. “Fetch it quickly.”

“You may depend on me, sir.” The robot gave the boy a rusty salute and clanked off down the dark hallway.

“There’s something else, too, Thaddeus, something strange about your grandfather.” She handed him the picture of Celsius and Sally. “ Look at this picture I found in my bedroom.”

The boy looked it over. “It’s certainly Grandfather. But who is the woman? Is she my grandmother?”

“No, her name is Sally Twittington. They were engaged, but never got married. Her family lived next door in your grandfather’s time. See the date at the bottom?”

“1936. But why—”

Josephine opened the grocery bag and laid the book on the cluttered coffee table. “My mom and I did some research today at the library. Take a look at this.” She opened the book and pointed out Thaddeus’s grandfather in the picture of the Edison Pioneers.

Thaddeus pushed his glasses up his nose and squinted at the book. “Obviously, that’s Grandfather as well. What is your point?”

“The point is, your grandfather looks identical in both photos even though they were taken twenty-five years apart.”

The boy studied the two pictures closely. “Astonishing! Even taking into account the excellent genes common to all Hibbles, one would expect to see some signs of aging over such a span.”

“Exactly.”

The boy stared at the picture for another moment. “It’s too bad.”

“What’s too bad?”

“That he failed to marry the woman. She might have been a first-rate grandmother.”

Josephine’s brain was humming with questions now. “Do you know how old your grandfather was at the time of his mur—I mean his death?”

“I don’t know how old he was, but we should be able to find out.” Thaddeus snapped his fingers at Felix, who had been snoozing on the rug at their feet. “Felix, get me the file on Grandfather’s murder.”

The cat frowned and grumbled, but rose slowly and sauntered off to a nearby room. Josephine winced at Thaddeus’s casual bluntness in referring to his grandfather’s violent demise.

“You need not pussyfoot with me, Ms. Crav—”

“Josephine.”

“Josephine. It is a fact that Grandfather did not die peacefully in his sleep. He was brutally murdered, and it is perfectly fine to say so. I find that emotions are an unnecessary distraction.”

“That’s not true, Thaddeus! There’s nothing wrong with having feelings,” she said.

Thaddeus rolled his eyes. “Urgh. You’ve been here for less than ten minutes, and already I tire of your babbling. Felix! Where’s that file?”

“Hold your beans, I got it right here.” The cat strolled back into the room carrying a thick folder stuffed with newspaper clippings.

“Thank you.” The boy patted the cat’s head and snatched the folder. He began sorting through the ragged clippings, tossing the irrelevant ones aside. Finally he came to the ones he wanted, an inch-thick mess of them, stapled together.

“Here’s the obituary from the Awkward Falls Chronicle. It reports that on the date of his death, Grandfather was…hmm. It says his age is uncertain, but that he was said to be either ninety-one, ninety-five, or one hundred six. Let’s try the one from the Times.” Thaddeus flipped to the next clipping.

“Professor Celsius T. Hibble was killed, etcetera and so on, the professor’s age is…unknown.” He flipped quickly through several others, each saying essentially the same thing: age unknown. Some of the other papers made guesses as to his age, the oldest being one hundred twelve, the youngest eighty-nine. None of the obituaries could say for sure how old the professor had been when he died.

Thaddeus and Josephine sorted through some of the other clippings and found a photo of Hibble in an army uniform.

Josephine grabbed the magnifying glass and looked closely at the photo. “He looks the same in this photo too.”

“That uniform Grandfather is wearing is from the Spanish-American War. I happen to be a buff on that particular conflict. Therefore, we can assume that photo was taken no later than 1898.”

Josephine smacked her forehead. “That’s thirty-eight years before the one of him and Sally! How could he not age at all for so long?”